His Black Rose
by Raven On The Writing Desk
Summary: The first locket Undertaker ever kept, was a locket with a black rose on it. He's had it since he was a young human boy. Black roses were HER favorite. He keeps that locket close to his heart. No one but him has ever seen it, or ever will see it. That locket is a memory of long lost love, in a land once so wild.
1. The Undertaker And The Nobelwoman

This is the story of a man and a women.

Perhaps you have heard of the story in your younger days.

One was a noblewoman, and the other a young apprentice to the local undertaker.

The two lived in London, but this was when London was young, and mostly wild.

Towns were far away, and their roads were long and harsh.

Now, the noblewoman and the apprentice were both 17.

When the noblewoman's younger sister died in infancy, the two met for the first time.

Almost instantly the young'uns fell for each other, yet their love could not be.

But, every night, the apprentice would sneak away, and visit the noblewoman.

She would stand on her balcony with him below her, and they would talk the night away.

All was fine for a few months, before her father found out.

To protect his only child, he sent her to live in her uncle's country estate in the next town.

Her wealth made it easy to travel, but anyone else would have certainly perished.

Soon, the apprentice found out about his love's leaving.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, and even months to years.

Finally, the apprentice passed at age 22.

His master failed to determine the cause of his death, and declared he had died of a broken heart.

The father felt guilty, but did not send for his daughter, nor did he send the news.

Oh? You've never heard this story? Do you wonder what became of the daughter?

Well if not,

**I'd say it's time you begun.**


	2. The Shinigami

The young noblewomen sat in her rather plain and ordinary room in her uncle's country house, the dying sun casting a faint glow in the plain room. She was in great contrast with the rest of the room.

The noblewomen was five or so feet tall, wearing a flowing dress of silver silk with long brown hair tumbling like a wave down her shoulders. She was very lean and pale, with nary a mark upon her, a sign of a noblewoman. Her eyes were an emerald color that shone like jewels. In her long hair was a dethorned black rose. An odd flower, but a lovely one none the less.

In contrast to her rather regal appearance, the room was large, but the floors and walls were plain wood, as were the posts and headboard of the four-post bed. There was a wardrobe beside west window, and a chair with a little table beside the east window. The only other thing was a writing desk pushed into the west corner. It was dusty, and stacked with unopened letters, half opened gifts, and old books. The bed was nothing special, made with simple white sheets and a tan comforter.

Her room was in the highest part of the large house, and so received all the light of the day. Not only that, but it was quiet, and peaceful. She had even made friends with a large female Barn Owl that nested in a hollow in the tree outside of the west window.

There was a soft rap outside the door. It was her uncle, calling to her.

"Lila! I am retiring. Do not stay up too late!"

"Yes uncle! I won't!"

Her uncle continued on his way, and a few minutes later a door closed and latched. The girl of twenty-two, Lila, sighed. She rose from where she sat beside the window, reading, and put down her book in favor of picking up the candle. Lila crossed to her desk with a silent and dainty stride. She put down her candle and cleared off her dusty desk, placing each object on the floor with care. Beneath the clutter was a cherrywood desk, which had been protected from the dust by the burden of clutter it had bore.

From within a drawer, Lila pulled out a piece of crisp parchment and an inkwell. From within a small and carefully protected compartment, she pulled out a quill made of a primary feather from her owl friend. By the light of the candle, Lila began to pen a note to her lover back in London.

In London, night had descended, and with it came a cold and biting night air. The streets were empty, and each building shut tight. The cold air had driven every living thing off of the streets. Well...mostly.

Standing in the darkness was an old women with silver hair, and a black robe speckled with white dots, as if the stars had descended from the sky and laid themselves upon her wrap. The women leaded against an otherworldly object disguised as the most common of tools. Appearing as a modified farming sickle, this object was in fact a Death Scythe used by the Shinigami. This particular model was the highest rank that could be obtained by the soul retrievers. This women was, in fact, a Shinigami.

The old woman's eyes seemed to shine in the dark. Her eyes were fixed upon the only funeral parlor in London. In her hand she held spool of medical thread. In the darkest of nights, with no one to bear witness to the events, the circle of life would stop in its tracks, and rewind for one man.

Behind the parlor was a dirt path leading about a half mile out of town. If the dead were buried too close to town, the wild animals that stalked the woods that dominated the London countryside were sure to cause trouble within the city. The old women walked down the path, her Scythe slung casually on her shoulder. Her expression was positively bored, but there was a little spark of interest in the way she walked. The task of retrieving souls was so mundane and monotonous, but every now and again that dull job was interrupted.

After death, most humans would move into their correct afterlife. But, a few were selected to continue living. They would become Shinigami, but it was a rare happening. The decision would be made when the body and soul separated, and the soul was judged. But, every now and again, a decision was changed, as in this instant.

There was a man who was the apprentice of an undertaker, who had died of unknown causes. His soul was collected, stamped, and not given another thought. His soul did not move on, though. It lingered in the form of a ghostly pale figure, wandering the streets and causing panic. Those in the higher offices of the Shinigami Dispatch, as it was called, were alarmed. It was important the mortals continued to live in ignorance. To believe ghosts and zombies, angels and devils, and the Reapers of old, were only fairytales. The mortals would not be able to comprehend the truth.

In the bone yard, among the stones, a pale man with sharp features wove between the stones, looking far and wide, as if looking for something. The women cleared her throat loudly to attract the ghoul's attention. She did indeed get the man's attention.

The man was pale white, very thin, and had very lean and sharp features. His hair was shaggy, and often fell in his face. He would occasionally reach out with long, spindly fingers and long fingernails, trying to grab something that was not there. After a few minutes, he spoke,

"...Who are you? What do you want?"

The old women walked down the path to the confused spector, speaking in a calming voice,

"My name is not important now, for I am simply doing my job as a Grim Reaper. We have seen your affairs with the young women, Lily, was it?"

The apprentice's ghoul snapped,

"Her name was Lila!"

The old women dipped her head gracefully.

"Lila, my apologies. You do really care for her, I see. I am here to restore you to the world you once walked upon. You are a very interesting man. So, I will bring you back. I'll let you live again, but you will live for an eternity, collecting the souls of the deceased. Every human must be judged in their death. You have avoided it, until now. In this, the darkest of nights, you are to be restored to life as a Shinigami, to collect souls and guide them through death for all eternity."

The Reaper raised her Scythe. The ghoul opened his mouth, but no words came out. Only a strangled scream as the blade cut into his throat. Blood spilled, real blood like what is in a human. His figure solidified, and the man's feet felt the ground. His skin began to have color again, but it was still very pale, as was his hair a silvery color. It had been years since the sun had touched his skin and hair, and now the color had faded away.

The man let out a strangled sound, and fell to his hands and knees on the ground, blood pouring from his neck. His entire body was on fire, blazing back to life and going haywire. The Reaper pulled the medical thread from her pocket, and tilted up the man's chin. She began carefully sowing the wound upon the neck closed in a wide diamond-like pattern. There was a tingling, and the stitching faded into his skin, as if it was a tattoo. The female grabbed his face sharply, studying it.

"Hm...You are still very recognizable as a dead man."

She stood, and with another sharp slash, she cut the man's face. He pitched back, spattering even more blood. The women then sat upon his chest, and began sowing the wound shut like she had done to his neck. The diamond stitch pattern faded into his skin once again, as if it was a tattoo. As she worked, the color in his eyes drained away, only to be replaced with the distinctive two colors in a Reaper's eyes.

She rose off of him, and cleaned her blade of his blood.

"Your soul has returned to you. For the rest of time you will serve as a protector of souls. However, I first have to persuade those in the higher offices, that was I decided to do was justified. You have some time to do as you want, but be careful of what you do. You are believed to be dead."

She turned to leave, but the resurrected man spoke,

"Reaper! I have another question, what is my name? I do not remember."

She stopped.

"Your name...is Undertaker."


	3. Lila!

The man, now known as Undertaker, was in a daze. Everything had happened so fast. He was confused, and in a lot of pain. Pain...pain…

_How can I feel pain?_

Undertaker remembered dying. He remembered all his time of wandering as a soul through the London streets. His memories were slowly coming back to him. He remembered his birthday, his childhood, his training as an undertaker, but his name never did come back to him. Perhaps the women told him the truth of his name, but why was he named after his profession? Undertaker tried harder to remember, the more the memory slipped through his grasp.

He also had a faint memory, one that he felt as though he would be better off forgetting. The memory caused him a great pain in his heart, and drowned him in sorrow.

Undertaker saw a vision when he closed his eyes. There was a woman of five or so feet tall, wearing a flowing dress of silver silk with long brown hair tumbling like a wave down her shoulders. She was very lean and pale, with nary a mark upon her, a sign of a noblewoman. Her eyes were an emerald color that shone like jewels. In her hands, she held a bunch of black roses to her face, smelling them. Her face was very angular, and she looked back at Undertaker with love.

Undertaker jumped back from where he stood as if the ground had burned his feet. He still couldn't remember who this woman was, or why she was so important.

Above him, the clouds began to growl, threatening London with the approach of a storm. Along with it came a chilling wind. Winter was not too far away, and London winters in this wild land were harsh and long.

Undertaker rose his face to the sky, and closed his eyes, allowing the cold warning wind to caress his face. He could actually feel things now. For the first time in days he had long lost count of, he could feel.

With Undertaker's eyes closed, the vision of that girl kept replaying in his head. He still didn't know who she was, but she sparked some strong emotion in him; love.

The first drops of rain fell from the sky. The cold drops splattered upon his forehead and cheeks, running down his pale skin, cooling the pain of the marks that disfigured his looks. The rain poured down shortly after, soaking his hair and clothes. The cold wind that had blown in was loud, and whistled into his ears.

_Lila..._

Undertaker's eyes snapped open, his dual-colored eyes shining bright with emotions.

_Lila…_

"Lila!"

The name blurted past Undertaker's lips, but was drowned out by the clapping of the thunder.


	4. Freak

The wind was roaring through the trees, the rain was pelting, and the thunder was deafening. Undertaker was slowly learning he had new skills along with his new life. He was faster, stronger, smarter, and had a higher pain tolerance. He also healed much faster than he used to. The marks on his skin drawn by the Reaper's Scythe barely hurt anymore. It was hard to control these new abilities. He especially struggled to stop when he was running, but why was he running?  
>Well, Undertaker was running from the cemetery as fast as he possibly could. He was getting flashes of memories of this, "Lila". He remembered where she lived now, and was determined to get there. He ran away to his lover's place, not remembering she had moved away.<p>

When he did arrive at the man's large house, he rapped quickly upon the door. Lila's father answered.

"Oh? A visitor? Did you receive a card?"

Lila's family never had servants. She came from a long line of explorers and very proud individuals. What couldn't be done of one's own power was not worth doing. For that reason, her father, Victor Lonwic, answered the doors.

Undertaker did not know this man, but he did bare a small resemblance to Lila. Undertaker spoke gruffly,

"Lila. I am looking for Lila."

Mr. Lonwic seemed rather offended at the brash man. He replied harshly,

"Now listen here, young man! What do you think gives you the right to appear at my home so late at night, and during the preparations for winter, mind you, and demand to know where my daughter is?!"

Undertaker was confused. If this man was Lila's father, shouldn't he know him? Recognize him? Something? Perhaps he had come rather late, but this man was acting as if they had never met!

Undertaker shouldered past him slightly in haste, and called out,

"Lila! Lila!"

Mr. Lonwic pushed Undertaker back with a sharp backhand to the face. Undertaker stumbled back into the rain. He was in no pain, nor was there a mark, but he was not used to the fact that he rarely took damage. The backhand, however, proved rather helpful. It had calmed Undertaker of his hasty actions, and brought him back to his senses. Undertaker forced himself into calmness, and smiled. Mr. Lonwic showed some fear of Undertaker, who then began to speak calmly,

"I am looking for Lila~ I come to bring a message for her."

Mr. Lonwic was studying Undertaker's eyes. Not to ascertain whether or not he was telling the truth, but he didn't trust the double colors of his eyes. Mr. Lonwic stepped back, and put his hand on the door.

"She is not here, you demon! Stay away from my child! You will never find her, you freak!"

Mr. Lonwic slammed the door shut. Undertaker was in surprise, his mouth slightly agape. He backed up, and began walking down the path leading from the home. As he walked, he looked down into a puddle, and saw his pale and scared reflection staring back at him. Slowly, Undertaker put one hand over one of his unnaturally colored eyes, and muttered,

"Freak...I see…"

Undertaker gathered up a lock of hair from the top of his head, and picked up a rock from the ground. With his legendary power, he broke the rock into a jagged edge. He settled the sharp edge upon the lock he had gathered, and easily sliced off a piece of his long hair. He didn't cut off too much, in fact, the loss was barely noticeable. The only change was that he now had bangs falling down his face, covering up the eyes the deemed him as a freak.


End file.
